In Which Mon Cher is Overused
by CookieCollabs
Summary: "Mon cher " "Don't call me that, you frog!" It was the usual. France and England were at it again. But what if things went in some other direction? FrUK T for language


**Title: **In Which Mon Cher Is Overused

**Authors: ****cookiecollabs****  
>Pairing: <strong>FrUK (France/England)

**Rating: **T (for language)**  
>Warnings: <strong>mild language, perverted France

**Spoilers: **none

**Disclaimer: **Neither Kristen nor Nani own Hetalia: Axis Powers. Himapapa was the one who created such wonderfulness.

**Summary: **"Mon cher~" "Don't call me that, you frog!" It was the usual. France and England were at it again. But what if things went in some other direction? FrUK T for language

"Mon cher~!"

"Don't call me that, you frog!"

It was the usual. America was standing at the head of the table, running his large mouth, Japan was agreeing with everything he said, even though he secretly didn't deep down, Russia was scaring the shit out of people... you know, the usual.

"Oh, but I must~!"

"Why?"

France grabbed at the stiff Brit, holding him closer than necessary. "Because you're so cute, mon cher!" he cried, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Get. The hell. Off."

"I'm sorry, I did not hear what you just said."

"GET THE HELL OFF BEFORE I MAKE YOU."

"Oh, you have such a stick up your ass, do you not?" France ohohohon'd at his own words, pulling away from the shorter blonde anyways.

"Hmmph."

"I do not hear an objection~"

"I don't, thank you very much." England huffed indignantly.

"But you do, mi amor!"

"I said not to call me that!" Arthur snapped.

France gave him a 'o rly?' look. "And when have I ever listened to you, mon cher?"

"Ughhh..." Arthur's forehead made contact to the table. "I hate sitting next to you..."

"Love you too."

"Hate you."

"So hurtful, mon cher." France chuckled to himself, his hand sneaking beneath the table.

"Good." Arthur quipped.

A hand crept up his thigh. A very... _perverted_ hand. Inch... inch... closer...

_WHACK._

"BLOODY FROG!"

Germany stopped his current lecturing, turning to the two blondes with a look of 'how dare you interrupt me'. "Is there a problem, England?" he asked, gruffly.

"DON'T. GROPE. ME."

France gripped at his head, which was throbbing profusely. "You should really consider calming down, mi amor..." he whispered, looking at the broad country.

The German huffed, folding his arms across his chest. "United Kingdom of Britain and Northern Ireland."

"Y-yes?" England sat up.

"I addressed you and you didn't respond."

"Oh! My apologies. Please, repeat yourself."

"I asked if there was a problem. There is no reason for you to be shouting things when it is not your turn, ja?"

"So I can shout things when it's my turn?"

"Be quiet, America."

England rolled his eyes at his former charge. "Seriously, America. You really are stupid."

America ignored him, giving Germany the look of a kicked puppy. "Whyyyy nottttt?" he whined.

"Because that is how it is," Germany stated, flatly.

"But... But...!"

"Le sigh..." France rolled his eyes, still clutching at his head.

"Le sigh? Seriously, France. You need to get over your own language."

But it is such a beautiful language~!" France was then sprawled over the Brit yet again, nuzzling his cheek with his own.

"GET OFF!"

And so, the World Meeting went on pointlessly.

Once it was over, England tried to escape the conference room, but was pushed to the side by France.

"What do you want now?" The Brit mumbled, glaring at him.

"You, non?"

"Don't say creepy things, frog!" England hissed, cheeks flushed. He hurried past him.

"Wait, mon cher!" France grabbed at his wrist, pushing him against a wall.

"Hey!"

France gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't kidding. "Anglettere."

"Wh-what?" England stammered, forcing himself to calm down. _Why is he looking at me like that?_

The taller blonde grabbed at his chin, leaning forward so his curls were tickling England's cheek. "Je 'tiame."

"S-speak English." England demanded, though he knew exactly what France had said.

"Why, mon cher? You like it when I speak the language of love, non?" France smiled, but it was starting to creep England out. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward a bit more.

"T-too close..." England's emerald eyes met sapphire. _He's serious! Oh, God!_

France quirked an eyebrow that wasn't nearly as thick as the other's, may we add. "Hmm?"

"Move away, frog... I need personal space."

"I do not know what personal space is, mi amor." France leaned forward again to kiss at the other's forehead.

"Fr-France... I'm telling you..."

"And again, I do not listen, Anglettere."

"M-move away or I'll..." England's face was growing gradually redder and redder.

"You'll...?" France waited for him to finish his answer.

"I... I'm thinking of a threat, dammit."

"Oui..."

England glared at him. "Well... I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be bad!"

France looked at him as if he were crazy, and maybe he was, and pulled away. "I don't need another concussion," he said, shrugging it off.

"Thank you." England said, leaving the room quickly before something else happened.

As he walked down the hall, he tried to force his stupid blush to go away.

Stupid blush being stupid.

~~~~

"Mon cher, whatever is your problem?"

"Why are you here again?" France stood in his kitchen as England prepared a pot of tea.

France played with a strand of his absolutely fabulous and well cared for hair. Or, at least, that's what _he_ thought. "I came to critique your cooking," he joked. "It is most horrible, as always." As if to prove his point, he took one of England's burnt scones and took a hesitant bite, making a look of disgust. "Yuck!"

"If all you're doing is criticizing me, it would do you well to leave." England said indignantly.

"I think not, hmm?"

"When have I cared about what you think, frog?" The Brit retorted.

The other blonde held up his hands in mock defense. "I am only trying to help, non?" He looked through England's cabinets, occasionally making snide comments.

England opened his refrigerator, taking out some... _strange_ ingredients before mixing them together in a large stainless steel bowl. "If you're such a good chef yourself, why don't you help me?" He snapped. Thinking that put him in his place, he continued stirring, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Oh hon hon hon..." Arms were wrapped around his waist, and a chin rested on his shoulder, causing the Brit to go stiff. "Shall big brother help you?" France murmured, all too sweetly.

"Get. Off."

"Ah, but mon ami, you are so much fun to hold!" The Frenchman nuzzled his cheek with his own again, chuckling to himself. "Why are you so mean to big brother?"

"Your manner of speech is... is... is thoroughly creeping me out!" England snapped, growing more and more irritable.

"And why is that, mon cher~?"

"Because... that's just who you are!"

"You are stammering..."

"No I'm not! Idiot!" England turned in France's arms to face him and started to push him away.

But he wouldn't budge. "I am no idiot, mon cher!" France declared, holding him against his chest. "Do not fear! Big brother is here to save you from the terrible thing that is your cooking!"

"...Bloody... Shut up about my cooking!"

"But didn't you say I should help?"

"I was... gah... Sh-shut up!"

"Here, here! Come, mi amor! Big brother will help you!" France grabbed his spoon, prying it from England's hands and tossing it into the sink. "This will not do!" he cooed. "Whatever you are trying to make, it will turn out as shit, as always!"

"...Thank you. That truly made me appreciate your help."

France pouted. "I dislike your sarcasm."

"Good." England huffed. "Well, then. What do _you_ suggest I do?"

"..."

Hesitation.

"...stop cooking."

"..."

A deadly silence.

"WANKER!" England hit France across the head. "I'll cook if I want to!"

"The world will end if you continue to do so!" France cried, cowering in a corner while clutching at his head. "You should really consider not hitting others so hard!" He mumbled a few French curse words, wincing at the throb in his head. "Mon cher is sooooo mean!"

"Shut up! You're as immature as America, for goodness sake!"

France gaped at him, horrified. "Do not compare me to that horrible ex-colony of yours! He is most disgusting, and it's all because of you!"

"At least he doesn't try to _molest_ me, unlike you!"

"You're the one who tries to molest him in his sleep! I've seen it with my very own eyes!" France grabbed one of England's pans and held it above his head, ready to use it as a weapon if needed.

"Only _you_ would assume something that sick!"

"But it's true!"

"No, it's not!" England hissed, grabbing a spatula and pointing it at France's face.

France immediately raised his pot over his face more. "I only came to help, Anglettere! Not to hurt!"

England lowered his spatula, rolling his eyes. "Whatever."

"So... Can big brother help?"

"Hmmph. Perhaps."

"...This is actually good." England admitted grudgingly halfway through their meal.

"Heh."

"Don't gloat."

"I will do what I wish."

"I'll kick you out." England threatened, sipping another spoonful of stew.

France pouted, sipping at the wine he had brought with him. "That wouldn't be very nice, mon cher."

"You'd deserve it."

"Mean!"

"I don't care!"

"_I_ do!"

"And your point is?"

Once again, the Frenchman pouted, feigning hurt. "I feel very hurt, mon cher."

England sighed, offering a small smile. "Fine. I may care... a smidge."

"Anglettere is smiling..." The taller blonde's lips quirked into a smile as well. "You should smile more often, non?"

England averted his eyes, cheeks tinted a light pink. "Don't say stupid things."

"Anglettere is also cute."

"...Don't call me cute."

"But, mon ami, you are."

"...Right."

The other decided to drape himself over England, arms around his middle and hugging him from behind. "Just accept it~"

"When did you get behind me?"

"Your so-called magic." France rolled his eyes, kissing at the other's temple. "You weren't paying attention."

"G-get off..." The Brit blushed darker. "You're always all over me..."

"Give me three reasons why I should get off."

"One. Because. Two. Because. Three. Because." It was the best England could muster in his situation.

"Sorry, but that's not good enough, mon cher." France kissed at his temple again, seeming to tighten his hold on the other blonde.

England tensed. "Dammit, frog! Why do you insist on doing this whenever we meet?"

"Oh, mi amor, you are so clueless."

"What?"

"Hmm... I think you should find out for yourself."

"Stop being so cryptic!" England snapped, pulling away and glaring at the Frenchman.

France looked more than just serious. "Do you _really_ want to know, Anglettere?"

"Yes! You're even more annoying when he get like this!"

"...hmm."

England was pushed against the table, an arm around his waist and a hand in his hair. A mouth was suddenly on his, rendering him speechless and frozen.

"Mmph!" England's green eyes widened.

He was being kissed.

France was kissing him.

France, his long time frienemy, was kissing him.

And oh fuck.

He was kind of enjoying it.

He pulled away, looking up at France, breathless.

The Frenchman looked down at him with narrowed sapphire eyes. "Was that enough explaining, mon cher?" he asked, huskily.

England felt his cheeks heating. "Hell, why haven't you done that before?"

This caught France by surprise, his eyebrows raising. "Anglettere?" he questioned, not quite sure what he meant by that.

"Well..." England averted his eyes, his face growing redder. "Thought I got over you... I suppose I didn't."

"Oh hon hon hon..." France smirked and pulled him closer, kissing at his forehead. "Anglettere likes me! Who would've known?"

"N-not necessarily _likes..._ maybe... just doesn't hate..." England mumbled, his blush darkening as he grew more embarrassed.

"You aren't very convincing, I must say." France chuckled. "I don't hate you either, if that's what you thought."

"Good, then. The feeling's mutual."

Something like "believe what you want" was mumbled, and France was once again all over him.

**Nani: Well, that was short. And corny, on my part. This was mainly to experiment with FrUK. Was Iggy in character? I doubt it. XDD Please review and tell us how we did! I need practice with these two.. orz**

**Kristen: Actually, it's just about 2k+, so I guess you could call it a decent oneshot. I, too, need work on these two, since I just recently got into them. XD I said I would never join the FrUk group, but I guess I lied. I don't know that much French, and I hope I did well. (And no, I didn't go on Google Translate like I did with the first chapter for 'Oh, the Drama'. I actually know a few languages. I'm just not fluent.) But, like she said, please review and let us know how we did! Because neither of us are familiar with our characters yet. (I played France, and she played England.)**

**And please let me know if there's a 'Sent via Facebook mobile'. OTL I tend to leave one in there by mistake sometimes.**


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